The Psychology of Clothes
by Veritas Found
Summary: Somehow, Rose had just known she would regret asking the Doctor to help her unpack...


**Title:** "The Psychology of Clothes"

**Author:** Wish Wielder

**Fandom:** Doctor Who

**Pairing / Character Focus:** (Ninth) Doctor, Rose Tyler

**Challenge:** N/A

**Theme / Prompt:** N/A

**Word Count:** 872

**Rating:** T / PG-13

**Summary:** Somehow, Rose had just known she would regret asking the Doctor to help her unpack…

**Notes:** Beginning of S1, probably not long after "Aliens of London"/"World War III". Partially Michelle V's fault (for putting the idea of the Doc helping Rose unpack in my head), and partially my tendency to think too much (i.e.: why I really should put a CD on when putting the wash away).

**Disclaimer:** "Doctor Who" and all respective properties are © the BBC. Megan D. (Wish Wielder) does not, has never, nor will ever own "Doctor Who".

_**"The Psychology of Clothes"**_

"Rose, I'm just a bit curious…" the Doctor started, and Rose grunted from her place by her new bed, where she was sorting jeans to hang in her wardrobe. The Doctor stood by the chest of drawers, where she had asked him to sort out her tops. She knew that probably hadn't been the best of ideas (men, she had decided a long time ago, were rubbish at sorting clothes), but she had been the one to ask him to help her unpack. She turned to face him and froze, her eyes widening at the lacy black knickers held aloofly in his hand. Hadn't she told him to stay away from her…well…underthings? "What's the point of knickers like this?"

"I-I'm sorry?" she squeaked, and he raised a brow at her.

"They're black and…lacy," he said, hooking a finger in the band on the other side and stretching them out. She felt her face flush and wondered if he noticed.

…probably not. He usually didn't.

"…so?" she asked, knowing it sounded as lame as she thought it did. He rolled his eyes and spun them around.

"So what's their point?" he asked, and she dropped the jeans she had been holding to place her hands on her hips. (She felt suspiciously like her mother in doing so – not that she'd ever admit that…)

"Do they need a point?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"Just…they're black and lacy," he said. He pulled out another pair, one made of cotton and colored light pink. "And these are pink and not-lacey."

"Different knickers for different occasions," she said, shifting slightly.

"But no one sees them, Rose," he said. She wondered if that was a jab at her non-existent sex life (at least, that's what she was calling it now that Mickey was back home and she was here), but he was the Doctor and didn't really seem like the type to make jabs at non-existent sex lives. At least, not hers…

"So?" she asked again, more defensively this time. Her arms shifted and crossed her chest, mirroring her tone.

"So why does it matter if they're black and lacey or pink and not-lacey if no one sees them?" he asked, and she paused. But he just…

"So why does it matter what they look like at all, if no one sees them?" she asked. _Why does it bother you, if no one's meant to see them__If you're not meant to see them?_

"Because it looks like you've put thought into them," he said, and again she paused. He had lost her. He had officially lost her, and she had a feeling there was no way to recover his train of thought. Why did he care about her knickers, again?

"I…what?" she asked, and he nodded to the knickers in his hands.

"No one ever sees them, so it shouldn't matter what they look like. For all anyone could care you could just where white knickers, but you've got them in colors and patterns and with bits of lace stuck to them. You put thought into your knickers," he said. He reached into the bag and pulled out a lilac, lace-rimmed bra. _Kill me. __N__ow._ "And in these."

"I see them!" she snapped, shifting uncomfortably. Again with the eyebrow, and she wanted to slap him. (No, she was _not_ acting like her mother…) "It doesn't matter if anyone else sees them – I still do, and I want them to look nice!"

"…"

"Don't look at me like that! It's perfectly acceptable! Besides, what if one day I was wearing a purple top that didn't fit the shoulders right, yeah? Having a matching bra makes it look more like I've got another top under it! And…and…black knickers go better with dark jeans and skirts! And they make me feel pretty! So there!" she snapped. She couldn't believe she was justifying her clothing choices to the Doctor. She couldn't believe he was making her. Stupid big-eared git of an alien… _Kill me now. Please._

"So…you have pink knickers because they match pink skirts?" he asked, and she wondered if he even cared he was sending all the blood to her face. Yes, she was going to die of embarrassment any second now… "And they make you feel pretty?"

"Yes!" she huffed, and he shrugged before folding them up and placing them in the top drawer. She frowned at him. "Is that all?"

"Yep," he said, folding up the black pair and setting them next to the pink. She deflated slightly.

"Really?" she asked, and he nodded. She should be glad for that, but…why was she feeling so disappointed? Why did she care? _Why did he?_

"That's all," he said, pulling another pair out of the bag. She watched him fold a few more pairs, blinking as her mind raced to catch up with wherever that conversation had just gone.

"You…" she paused, shaking her head slightly, "…are the weirdest bloke I've ever met."

"I'm not the one who buys undergarments that make me feel pretty," he said, smirking at her as he accentuated the 'pretty'.

"You…but…what…you…ARGH!" she finally screamed, reaching behind her for something – anything – to chuck at his head.

He decided he _really_ didn't like Converse trainers.


End file.
